


Found

by escapemethods



Category: Friday the 13th Series (Movies), Friday the 13th: The Game (Video Game)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Jason Voorhees is a soft swamp boy, who has done no wrong ever in his life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23736364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escapemethods/pseuds/escapemethods
Summary: Abandoned and left to die in the middle of the woods, a little girl is rescued by an unlikely savior.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	Found

The overgrown grass along Crystal Lake is nearly waist-length and the pungent odor of rotten wood from the decrepit buildings nearby overpowers the clean smell of fresh water. With little interference from the surrounding municipal government in the past several years, nature's begun to reclaim the area, with moss covering the remnants of the buildings nearby and bug and birds nests taking over. Some nights, the quiet encourages families of bears to swim in the water to look for fish.

Tonight is like every other night. Jason treads across the camp from the woods with a heavy bundle of logs in one hand and an axe slung over his older shoulder. The thin sheet of ice over the lake almost sparkles in the glow of the full moon above, and the dirt's so frozen that it's hard like concrete under his feet. He expertly avoids slipping on the black ice that covers the stairs leading to his family's house and shuts the door loudly behind him.

There's no heat in the Voorhees Family home-hasn't been for years-but the fireplace warms up the living room enough when he manages to get a fire going. The cold never quite bothers him but something about fires have always drawn him in like a moth to a flame, the heat too. Still, the serenity of winter is deeply calming in its own innate way.

"You've always been like that, sweetheart," his mother says, as if she can read his mind. He feels her lithe fingers curl over the bulky muscle of his bicep. The warmth he'd always associated with Pamela Voorhees is no longer there but the weight is as comforting as it's always been. He glances at her sitting beside him, a dark line cutting her throat open so wide he can see the tendons therein. The dried blood caked along her neck and sweater is so dark that it's black in the moonlight that shines in from the shattered window nearby.

"You've always liked the fire," she continues softly, fingers touching along the bare skin behind the mask, "even during the summer, you'd beg me to start one for you. You liked how bright it was."

Their eyes meet, her own even more dead and dull than his own, before he looks back into the flame, his mask illuminated by it.

A coyote howls in the woods nearby.

Then it whimpers.

"You have a job to do, Jason," Pamela says as Jason stands at his full height, alert as ever with his eyes trained outside. To the human eye, there's nothing in the woods, but he immediately spots the faintest hint of what can only be a flashlight nearby.

"Go on, honey," she encourages sweetly, as if encouraging him to ride his bike with the training wheels off. When his gaze flicks over her again, black blood oozes from the gaping hole in her throat and her head starts to hang grotesquely off her shoulders as if held by a string. She smiles a blood-filled smile at him, her teeth rotted out of the festering hole where her mouth used to be.

"Go and make mommy proud."

He goes through the backdoor to step out into the woods, the winter chill harsh on the bare skin of his scalp. A gloved hand grips at the worn machete in between his fingers, knuckles whitening as he cuts down branches in his path with clean swipes. He hadn't realized that it started to snow, wet and light with the wind sending it directly into his eyes.

It doesn't deter him-nothing deters him anymore and hasn't in a long time, cold as it is. The snow's made the ground even more slippery beneath his feet but as always, he doesn't slip. He walks quickly, taking big steps to head to the direction of the light that still shines, brighter and brighter the closer he gets to the source.

A twig snaps under his weight when he finally zeroes in on the source: two bulky fluorescent flashlights scanning through the forest. The two figures halt in place when they hear the twig snap and the light almost illuminates Jason's form before he steps behind the thick trunk of a barren spruce tree.

"What the fuck was that?" one of the figures asks, voice deep and as coarse as concrete, flashlight moving frantically.

"We're in the middle of the fucking woods, man," the shorter man replies, sniffling. When Jason looks closer, he sees a dark case in his hand, something he can't quite make out. His grip stiffens around the handle of his blade but his mother tells him to be patient, to wait, at least a few more moments. Something, he doesn't listen to that whisper in his head, but something compels him to now.

"Could be anything," he continues, "an animal, probably. Let's just hope it's not a bear. I heard grizzlies are a bitch and I didn't even pack bear spray."

"Those are black bears, and besides, they wouldn't even come out here. They're all hibernating because it's the winter," the other exhales, "I don't like this. We should pick a different spot."

"Where else do we go? I'm not driving any fucking more. No one comes here these days, anyway, especially not in the winter. We're good."

"I have a bad feeling, I'm telling you! Like we're being watched or something."

"It's all in your head. This is the perfect spot," the shorter man puts down the package which, upon closer scrutiny, looks to be a sack of some sort. He leans it against the tree and hands the other a shovel, "now, start digging. I wanna be back in time for breakfast."

"Fine."

Before either of them can start digging, Jason reaches for the shovel in the taller man's arms. He has little time to react before the shovel hits him hard enough to cave his nose in. The second strike breaks his jaw with a deadly wack before he goes falling to the floor. With two gloved hands, Jason reaches for the shorter man's face and starts crushing, noting that his bones crack like walnut shells when he presses hard enough.

The taller man writhes in agony when the shorter falls to the ground beside him, bleeding profusely. Jason exhales a long breath he hadn't realized he was holding, cocking his head at his handiwork like a curious German Shepherd. Then he reaches for the machete in his utility belt.

"Wait!" he pleads. Jason, normally not one for mercy, halts, just for a moment, the weight of the rusted blade against the man's chest as he sobs. "Wait. Is it about-is it about the girl? Because I can-"

Confused, and not wanting to hear anymore, Jason stabs him through his open mouth, effectively impaling him to the root of the tree behind his head. He waits for the choking to stop, the hands gripping futilely at his blade falling limp beside him and the shine leaving his eyes to stay dull forever. Jason pulls the machete back, cleaning it to sit in his utility belt.

Then his gaze casts over to the package, which looks more like an insulated blanket than anything. He's seen enough of the teenagers use sleeping bags just like it before, in all of his years here.

He unzips it, pulling back layers of sheets and blankets to find a little girl inside. Her eyes are closed and her skin's so dirty he can hardly tell what's dried blood and what isn't. Her hair's even dingier and her lips are purple, but he feels a faint breath, when he lays his hand over her chest.

For a moment, he stays there, kneeled and watching the girl. She can't be any older than he was, though she's so thin it's hard to tell.

Then, he lifts the sleeping bag up over his shoulder, uncharacteristically careful with her especially against the snow that's steadily grown thicker in its descent in the forest. With his long strides, it doesn't take long to reach the Voorhees home, where his mother waits for him with the fire dying out.

Quickly, Jason starts it back up again, making sure the flame's alive and bright and, most importantly, warm, before diverting his attention back to the girl, whom he's laid on the worn leather couch.

"Jason," his mother says, tone unreadable, "What have I said about bringing guests to this house?"

He unzips the sleeping bag, ignoring her to reveal the girl's bruised face and body, barely concealed by a torn, flimsy nightgown. Pamela gasps, her fingers touching along matted hair. When Jason looks closer, he notices the girl shivering.

"Poor thing," Pamela says, looking back up at Jason, "she's practically a baby, much younger than you were when I lost you. Go to your room and bring down blankets. I know you have some."

Jason obliges, heading down the corridor to his bedroom to find two thick blankets. When he looks close enough, he finds a threadbare teddy bear on his floor and a dusty sweatshirt in the closet. He grabs them, shaking spiders off the sweatshirt, as he heads back into the main room.

He wraps the girl in one blanket and then the other, mindful of the bruises over her arms. His mother had always told him to be careful with kids smaller than him and he is-she's practically like a bird, how thin and fragile she is, and for once, he doesn't want to hurt or destroy.

"You did the right thing, sweetheart, and mommy is pleased," she says. An exhale escapes Jason once more as he looks down at the girl who lies against the couch illuminated by the flame. "You know, this is no place for a child. You can't keep her here with us forever. She has to go, once she's all better. But let her stay with us for now, she's such a sweet little thing. You've always loved babies."

He stares down at the child for a long moment before reaching for the teddy bear, placing it beside her head as an afterthought, and sitting in the creaky rocking chair by the roaring flame, watching her sleeping face all the while.

It's not long before she awakens with a sputter of a breath, coughing loud and wet. Jason quickly comes to her side before she can move anymore. Two tiny hands come up to rub at her eyes as she makes out the shape above her. The lavender of early dawn illuminates Jason brightly as the fire slowly dies out.

"Mommy?" the girl asks before blinking grogginess out of her eyes, making out the mask.

"You're-" she scrambles to sit up, pulling her knees closer to her chest as she shivers, her bruises more easily visible in daylight, even within the dark confines of the house. She sniffles, tears quickly forming as she licks at dry lips, then at the snot quickly falling down her nose, "you're not my mommy. Where is she?"

Jason knows he couldn't answer her even if he wanted to. Her request puzzles him, almost visibly. After a moment of simply staring down at her, knowing he's scaring her and for once not wanting to, he reaches beside her head. She screams as he holds out the teddy bear for her to take. She stammers, looking between his face and the bear, as if anticipating some sort of insidious ulterior motive before taking it, quickly hugging it to her chest. He stands there as she holds onto the bear, crying quietly. Interestingly enough, she doesn't run, and Jason doesn't know if it's because she's too weak or if it's because she doesn't want to, though he's inclined to lean toward the former, especially with how quickly she'd curled away from him. She'd been afraid but this isn't fear-Jason Voorhees knows fear better than anyone.

She licks at the red spot above her lip, looking up at him for a long moment as their gaze meets.

"Did you-did you save me, mister?"

His head cocks.

She carries on, encouraged by the reaction, "did you save me from-from the bad men? 'Cause I went to sleep and I woke up here and-I prayed, I prayed for my mommy to come take me, for God to save me."

She smiles brightly, through the tears that fall. He notices she's missing her two front teeth.

"I guess he did, huh? He sent you!"

Confused by her contradictory emotions, Jason's head cocks further to the side. When she reaches a hand out to touch him, he jerks away as if he's been burned, keeping his eyes on her. She hiccups with the pressure of her sobs as she giggles, holding on tighter to his teddy bear in her arms.

They stay like that, for a few long moments, before she breaks the silence to ask, "I'm-do you have any food, mister? It's okay if you don't. I'm just-I'm hungry."

He pauses, as if perplexed by the question, then heads into the kitchen, which is only marginally less rundown than the rest of the house. Finding a can of chicken noodle soup in a cabinet and a pot that he rinses off, he opens it up with one of his knives and starts to heat it up over the flame.

The girl takes that time to babble on, encouraged with his back to her, eager.

"I'm gonna share it with-with my bear. Thank you for giving him to me," she hugs him closer, pulling the blankets around her closer to herself, nose scrunching at the old smell and dust on them but grateful to be warm, nonetheless. His back remains to her and she has no idea if he heard anything she said, but he's done nothing to deter her from going on so she keeps at it, "my name is Rose. Like the flower."

She paws at the bear in her hands, turning it over. It's missing an eye and an ear, and some of its stuffing is coming out of the back. She knows if she pulls too hard, it'll come apart at the seams and so, she's careful. When she looks closer, she can find a name scribbled in permanent marker along the bottom of the foot, its age making the chicken scratch even harder to decipher.

"Jason," Rose says softly. The man freezes up, turning toward her. She smiles, beaming, giddy that she's gotten to know something about him in such a short span, even if he wasn't able to tell her himself, "that's your name, isn't it? Jason."

She can't make it out with the tiredness in her vision blurring him out, but she thinks she can see him nod.

"Thank you, Jason."

He stands, setting the pot of soup before her on the coffee table with a crudely crafted wooden spoon inside. She scoots herself up to the edge, struggling to keep the blankets around her lithe form. Jason wraps the blankets around her and moves his hands when she tenses at the sudden touch.

Rose smiles up at him as she grips the spoon. Hunger makes her clumsier and more ungraceful than usual while she eats, getting hot soup all over her dirty nightgown and blanket. Thankfully, she's set his bear on the table beside the bowl, careful to avoid dirtying him as she eats the broth and noodles quickly, burning her mouth and lips in the process. It's still the best thing she's ever eaten and the noodles are gone quickly along with most of the broth. When she's finished, she pushes the pot away from her gently, toward the bear, and lies back with the blankets bundled around her, exhausting suddenly hitting her hard.

"That was really good, Jason," she says, palm splayed over her tummy. For the first time in a long time, she feels full, the soup warming her up where the blanket can't. She lets out a satisfied exhale as she struggles against the way her eyes seem to slowly fall closed before she forces herself to stay awake.

Jason watches her, seemingly transfixed. She tries not to let it bother her.

"Hey, Jason?" she asks. He wonders if she likes the sound of his name and wonders if he likes the sound of it in her mouth, too.

Knowing she's not getting a response at this point, she continues, her eyes closed, "I-I'm sorry, I'm really tired. Do you promise not to leave when I'm asleep?"

She keeps her eyes open long enough to see him nod once more, one of his gloved hands pushing her down gently by the shoulder, as if to still her if she even thinks of making any movements herself. It's all she needs to fall asleep, soundly and peacefully, against the sofa. Jason watches her again, for a long moment, before letting his gaze flick over the half-finished pot of soup.

He notices she left the chicken in the pan and can't tell whether she didn't like it or if she really wanted to share the food with the bear. The idea's earnest in a way that almost baffles him-he hasn't interacted with such a young child in a very long time, and he already knows he's never met anyone like Rose before.

Exhaling at the absurdity of the situation, Jason sets the bear beside her head once more as he takes the pot away to clean it up, the fire crackling over the sound of Rose's deep breathing as she sleeps soundly, one hand dangling beside the couch as if reaching for something.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is my first Friday the 13th fic, spurred on by playing far too much Friday the 13th: The Game, but inspired by every entry in the franchise, including the game, though set in a purposely ambiguous timeline (that I'm, quite frankly, still figuring out right now, but I know it's heavily informed by Part IV, VI, and FVJ!). Let me know what you think!


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